


Immolate

by lavellanpls



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavellanpls/pseuds/lavellanpls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: <i>"The Inquisitor is too bright for Cole to read. Until one day she isn't."</i></p><p>When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire. Cole just wishes he could help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immolate

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by this [prompt.](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14614.html?thread=57320982#t57320982)

It was an accident. A random bit of chance.

It was late in the afternoon, after Lavellan’s scheduled survey of the troops but before her upcoming appointment with a visiting dignitary. The schedule gap left less than an hour open, but she spent the brief reprieve sitting on the edge of Solas’ desk, legs swinging lazily while he worked on some translation project or another. “Alright, you want to hear the best joke in the world?”

Solas only barely glanced up from his work. “Is it the one with the elephant?”

“No, but that’s a great one, and I stand by it. Alright, are you ready for this? So a man walks into a restaurant with a full grown ostrich behind him-”

A voice cut in from the hall, unmistakably Antivan in accent: “Inquisitor? Are you busy?”

At first she tried to pretend she hadn’t heard it. Ducked her head and stopped swinging her legs, as if that would make her less of a target. She opened her mouth to continue, voice low, but this time Cole appeared like a shadow in the doorway. “Josephine is looking for you. Someone wants very badly to yell at you. I’m sorry.”

She looked back to Solas with a frown. “The one with the ostrich,” he repeated. “I’ll be sure to remind you.”

She jumped down from the desk with a thin laugh. “Don’t let me forget. It’s a good one.”

She moved to step past Cole with a quick _thanks_ , but the toe of her boot caught on a bunched corner of rug and sent her pitching forward with a gasp. Cole darted forward before she could hit the ground, snagging her by the waist just in time to spare her a broken arm. But the instant his skin made contact something _changed_. He jerked back, dropped her immediately as if the touch shocked him. Lavellan hit the ground hard with a graceless _thump_ and a loud, echoing groan. “ _Ow_. What, am I that heavy?”

Cole just stared. Gaped. He held back, repelled by some invisible force, fingers fidgeting uselessly as if unsure what to do. He spoke in a too-quick tumble of words. “Too bright, always too _bright,_ like counting birds against the sun. I thought the mark made it _more,_ but it only blinds so you can’t see what burns beneath. I’m sorry. I didn’t see. Couldn’t- you were too _bright,_ but I felt…”

Lilith was still on the ground, frozen, staring up in horrified awe. An accident. Cole took another step back. “Burning, always burning, turning yourself to ash to keep others warm. A guiding star above a dead sea; bright and glowing, but from so far away no one sees the flames. _Bleeding, broken, I have cut myself wide open, but there is nothing left inside to burn._ Smoldering, smoking, burning so hot bones splinter beneath skin. _When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire._ Screaming, screaming, _screa_ -”

Lavellan unfroze and clambered back to her feet in time to clap a hand firmly over his mouth. She gave a single sharp command: “ _Stop_.”

He did. When she finally drew her hand back, he added in a hushed voice, “I’m sorry. I should have been helping, but you wouldn’t let me _see_.”

“You help me just fine,” she said. “Alright? Well, I mean. Except for the whole ‘catching’ bit, but I’m pretty durable. So. Just…forget about that, yeah? I’m fine.” She offered a warm smile that only made Cole’s horrified frown deepen.

“There won’t be anything left,” he informed, and Lilith only shrugged.

“Don’t worry about me,” she insisted. “I have it on very good authority that I am exceptionally hard to get rid of.” Josephine called her name again, and she spared an unhappy glance into the hall. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe someone needs to yell at me. So just…forget about that, alright?” She flashed a quick thumbs up as she ducked out the doorway. “Good thoughts.”

Solas watched the exchange with growing unease. Lilith was gone in a flash, scurrying away to no doubt lock herself in the war room, but Cole hadn’t moved. Still stood—fidgeting and restless and horrified—in the same spot. Cole ventured into their thoughts frequently, often out loud, but this hadn’t been planned. Whatever he did, wherever he looked, he clearly hadn’t meant for it to happen. Solas approached slowly, cautiously. “Cole?” he tested. “…what did you see?”

It took him a while to answer. When he did, it was hesitant, grudging, like pulling a confession from a child. “I’m…not sure, I didn’t look very long. That would have been bad. Old pains like arrows still sticking from her spine. She collects deaths like so many scars; sears them into her skin in running fractures of red. _Different faces, but the song stays the same—lead them or fall. Just like before. Just as it will always be_.” Eyes screwed tight, he shook his head to clear the image. “She keeps it buried, but it’s harder than she thought. She didn’t mean to let me see. She was very surprised.”

“Could you do it again?”

His answer was all-too immediate. “No.”

Well that wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. Definitely not the one he’d been hoping for. “Why not?” Solas entertained a hundred what-if’s. Could Lavellan block him from her mind? Better, was that some unforeseen side effect of the mark, or an ability unique to her?

Cole handily dashed his theories. “I don’t _want_ to,” he insisted. “I wasn’t supposed to see that. Pulled back too far; like peeking behind the curtains of a play and seeing all the strings and wires. _You’re not supposed to be here; this place was not meant for your eyes._ She feels the weight of the wires wrapped around her fingers, pulling tighter each time. A dark and terrible depth. I don’t want to see that. This was…I wasn’t supposed to be there. I’m not allowed there. Not me. Not like this.”

Solas did not like that answer. He liked the way Cole shrunk inward even less, as if still pulling back from the gaze of some unseen monster. There were a thousand questions to ask, but at the forefront of them all: “Is the Inquisitor…alright?”

“She’s burning,” he answered, “but she has to. The world needed a light, so she set herself aflame. She wants to show you, but she’s afraid you’ll burn too. And she’s right—you will.”

He disappeared before Solas got the chance to question him further—a frequent habit. Solas found his expression sinking into a distrustful frown. What was it he’d said, again? About a terrible depth?

* * *

It had been days since Cole’s… _reaction_ to whatever he saw in Lilith. He’d insisted on accompanying her on every mission since. And of course Lavellan could never turn down an offer to help, especially going into the desert. It was hard enough getting volunteers for ventures into the Western Approach. And Cole…meant well. An affirmation she’d find herself using often.

To Sera’s loud and immediate objections, she could only offer, “He likes to help.”

Or at least he liked trying. The boy followed her around like a mother hen, pushing potion bottles and stolen snacks at her every chance he got. He kept careful distance behind her on trails, sticking close enough to catch her whenever she stumbled or misjudged the stability of a rocky ledge (which was, admittedly, quite often). He probably saved her a broken leg when he stopped her from falling off a ladder—Lavellan could kill a high dragon with a sharp rock and a wish, but somehow _ladders_ would be her downfall. After a full day of narrowly steering her out of harm’s way, she began to wonder how she’d survived this long without him.

Sera was not pleased with her new second shadow. She kept careful watch on Cole and a hand firmly wrapped around her bow. “Oi, creepy, you the Herald’s new babysitter now or something?”

“She hurts too much,” he explained. “I have to _help._ ”

Sera stole a look back at Lavellan, eyebrow cocked. “Everything peachy, you?”

“I’m _fine._ He’s just…” She sighed. “Very passionate.” Really, she assured herself. He meant well.

The next morning Solas awoke to find Lavellan sitting cross-legged in front of the campfire, blanket draped around her shoulders, while Cole helpfully braided her hair. Lilith caught his quizzical stare and shrugged. “He won’t let me leave. I’m at a loss.”

“She doesn’t like when it gets in her face, but no one ever taught her how. She wants to ask Cassandra, but is embarrassed.”

“And he keeps doing that,” she added. She tried to shrug out of the blanket, but Cole tugged it back over her shoulder. “I’m not even cold,” she insisted.

“She likes pretending it’s a cape,” Cole said, and Lavellan retreated beneath the blanket with a loud groan. It was true, but _still_. He meant well, he meant well, he meant well…

Blackwall noticed it first during battle. Fighting alongside Lavellan was an experience—she was the first into the fray, yelled the loudest and took the hardest hits. She kept the attention on her while the rest of her team came in from the sides, and when an enemy’s focus drifted to another, her tactics turned to ferocious defense. Blackwall had once watched her take a Venatori marksman’s head clean off when the fool managed to sink an arrow into Dorian’s shoulder. She was their first line of defense; their merciless reaping blade, a bloody whirlwind to set loose on those that wished them harm. Blackwall thought, with a wistful sort of admiration, that she would have made a spectacular Grey Warden—although that’d probably also make her a dead one.

It was a surprise, then, when Cole started appearing behind her targets and knifing them in the back before the elf could reach them. Each time she’d stop short, axe paused mid-swing, and Cole would disappear before she could say a word. It happened four times in a row, in three different fights, before Lavellan finally asked, “Is there a reason you’re stealing all my kills today, or are you just feeling especially stabby?”

“They would have hit you,” he explained. “I stopped them before they could.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Cole, that’s…that’s a really sweet intention, and normally I’m all _about_ that, but they’re _supposed_ to hit me. And then I hit back harder. It’s a whole dynamic; I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

“No,” he said, and it was more statement of fact than argument. “You’ve been hit enough.”

Lilith dropped her hands to her hips with a defeated sigh. “Are you still on about this? I told you, I’m _fine_. I’ll be decidedly less fine if you end up getting killed on my behalf, though, so knock it off with the heroics, alright? I’m a warrior; I was built to take damage. You? Not so much.”

“That is not what you were built for,” he stated, and she finally gave up trying to argue. Blackwall motioned him over after she stalked off. “I don’t want to know what she’s thinking right now or what her deepest secrets are or any other of that eerie mind-reading stuff you do,” he prefaced, “but just tell me, yes or no: is she alright?”

“She has to burn. I can’t stop it. But I can make her feel better while it happens.”

“Right,” he grumbled. “So exactly the opposite of what I asked, then.”

Cole’s newly self-appointed role of Official Herald Chaperone didn’t stop after they returned to Skyhold. If anything it got worse. Suddenly things started disappearing; furniture moving; general ghostly shenanigans being had in the name of trying to “help.”

Someone had nicked a stepladder from the stables, and a cook later found it leaning against a cabinet in the kitchen. “It hurts her knees to climb,” Cole would later offer. “She gets hungry at night but doesn’t want to wake anyone up. But she can’t reach.”

Errant cups of tea began popping up in the oddest places—empty spots on library shelves, lining windowsills, scattered over desktops. At first Solas thought someone was intentionally tormenting him, until Cole helpfully supplied, “She never has time to finish her tea. Now she always has tea to finish.”

Exactly forty-eight copies of “Hard in Hightown” vanished from the library, similarly scattered throughout the castle grounds. Even Varric was confused about that one—apparently he wasn’t even aware Lavellan was a fan. “She likes when Varric writes about Hawke,” Cole explained, “even if she doesn’t always agree with the details.”

Cats began showing up all over Skyhold. At first it was just a few in the barn—not unusual, and certainly helpful against rodents. But then another appeared. And another. One morning Solas walked into the rotunda, a newly gathered stack of reports in hand, only to find two black cats scratching at the couch. He was notably less than pleased.

“What’s the matter,” Dorian chided, passing through on his way to the library. “More of a dog person?”

Solas opened a door to shoo them out, and instead let an orange tabby in. He sighed. “Something like that.”

“She respects cats,” Cole explained. “It makes her happy when they like her.”

Lavellan greeted each gesture with a rather tired sigh and a well-meaning “thank you.” Skyhold’s other inhabitants were significantly less understanding. _Someone_ had switched all the paintings around overnight—something about Lavellan “not liking how that one looked at her,” or “liking how this one reminds her of so-and-so”—and Vivienne was no less than furious.

“Some of these paintings are priceless,” she argued, and Cole just looked at her in that awful, piercing way that made her skin crawl, and said, “So is the Inquisitor.”

Vivienne gave a frustrated huff, but didn’t argue. She supposed he had her on that one.

Later, Josephine would politely inquire after a missing shipment of imported chocolates. Apparently they were quite valuable—some gift for a potential noble ally, specially made only in a small town on the coast of Antiva. Suspiciously, Lavellan chose not to comment.

That night Solas caught her in one of the rare moments she wasn’t in motion. It seemed she’d found one of Cole’s endless caches of tea—she sat perched on the ramparts wall, sipping cold tea from a chipped cup. While her other companions’ reactions ranged somewhere between mild irritation and an odd sort of endearment at Cole’s newfound babysitting habit, Solas had…other concerns. Perhaps he was just a pessimist. Or perhaps not.

He nodded to the teacup clasped tight in her hands. “You would sleep better if you drank less of that, you know.”

She laughed so abruptly she nearly snorted. “Why would I ever want to _sleep_ more?”

“Cole certainly seems concerned,” he pointed out. “Any chance you would care to discuss your new guardian, since we’re on the subject?”

She shrugged the question away. “Cole’s a nice kid. He just wants to help.”

“It sounded like it meant more than that.”

She rolled her eyes. A default reaction. “Doesn’t it always? What does he mean when he goes all cryptic-psychic on _you?_ ”

A fair point, albeit not one he appreciated. A conversation for another time if there ever was one. “You seemed shaken,” he pressed, and hoped she didn’t sense the eagerness with which he changed topics.

“Well, yeah, I sort of fell on my ass. Not my brightest moment.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I guess the mark makes his mind-vision all wonky,” she guessed, and wiggled her fingers for emphasis. “Honestly, though, it doesn’t bother me. Tingles a bit every now and again, but that’s hardly worth complaining about. More of a tickle, really.” She shook her wrist, and her palm flared green. “Makes masturbation kind of weird, I guess.”

Charming. Solas deliberately ignored that remark. She wasn’t going to trip him up that easily; not over this. Whatever this was. “Whatever Cole saw clearly troubled him,” he pushed on. “Do you not think that’s worth visiting?”

“Not to be an alarmist, but the gaping hole in the sky is kind of troubling.”

“He makes it sound as though you plan on dying.”

“Of course I don’t plan on dying,” she defended with play offense. “I’m going to live forever, remember?”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Solas didn’t feel like laughing. Just a pessimist, perhaps. But… “And what happens when you burn out?”

“Scatter my ashes somewhere pretty,” she said. “Or if Morrigan is still around, blow them directly into her face. If you don’t hear me laughing from beyond the grave, then you’ll know there truly is no afterlife.”

* * *

It was late when Cole found her. Lilith never was very good with time, but she guessed it had to be nearer to sunrise than sunset. She was standing tiptoe on the top rung of a stepstool, reaching for a cake someone had stored atop a tall cabinet, when she noticed him standing there. “Please don’t tell me you’re turning nocturnal for my sake,” she admonished. “The Inquisition hardly needs two insomniacs on their hands.”

Cole only stared at her, a dejected mix of sympathy and horror. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She’d already set to work carving two oversized slices of cake. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he said, “but you know that.”

She stopped; finally let her cool mask drop with a tired half-smile as she set the knife down and met his eyes. When she answered this time it was with the voice of someone much older; sadder. “It won’t help them to know. You can see that, right?”

“I can,” he agreed. “And you’re right. It won’t. I’m sorry. I hope I help. Even if I can’t fix it.”

“You do,” she assured, and slid him a plate. “Really. Thanks for that.”

“I’ll miss you. When you’re gone.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, but her gaze had dropped. “I’ll miss me, too.”

 

Solas found a note atop his desk the next morning. Unsigned, but presumably left by Cole. _“Don’t forget to remind her about the one with the ostrich. She likes that one.”_

**Author's Note:**

> [the one with the ostrich](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4344284)


End file.
